April is nearly gone, but I saw my first bluebird of the season yesterday. I hesitated in the driveway, distracted from the water bill and the Steinmart brochure by a brilliant flash of blue. He rested on the electrical wire for only a moment, then dipped into the nearest canopy of trees where the blue somehow blended into the green and he was hidden again.
This has been a lovely month of poetry. While I haven't posted many poem, I have enjoyed reading and have managed to write or revise a few for a new project. So before we turn the corner into May where spring in the Deep South will morph into morbid heat and jungles of weeds, I'm celebrating April!
Laura Purdie Salas hosts the roundup today, so stop by her blog for more poetry offerings.
by Helen Bayley Davis
Hush—April is in the lane!
Be very still, she may go again;
The touch of her lilac-scented hand
Is on my cheek.
Do not speak
To her, she may not understand;
She is shy, and white, and very
Look,—she leaves a crocus—there!
The daffodils awake, and stir;
Above my head there is a whir
Of blue blue wings oh I am
She is here! See—
By the wild plum tree
She pauses; soon it will be clad
In petals fluttering like blown
white tulle . . .
April, you are too beautiful: